River Mighty

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Footsteps, yarns and little fibs


Bumpy flow and an eddy or two - even a hiccup.

Submitted: July 02, 2018

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Submitted: July 02, 2018

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River Mighty

 

She can still be turbulent, the river mighty

Though on a summer’s day she’s but a placid flow

She was clear, clear like crystal, tasted good too

Not so now, there’s fertilizer and matter they call faecal

Take a sip, get a dose of the trots… or worse!

 

On her terrace high I sit, mulling like a grinder

Of stones smoothed by sand, water and shifted by floods

Weather and time tumbling mountains coastward. Made her bed

A wide-mile, or more. Flows of brown, surging water, silt and stone

Stratifying, layer upon layer this terrace five stories high… or more.

 

Imagine tall mountains, now worn into hills

Pre of the brown man, and pre of time measurement

Turning rain to water in volumes that went uncounted

No remains of life lay squeezed between the strata, not even charred

Life may decay over time but the stones stay… much the same.

 

She bends as if to curtsy in a graceful S

As she powers her way out to the sea. No longer a playground

For long-finned eels, inanga (still called silveries by me) or cockabullies

They’re all but gone. Gunk in the water to make them puke… or die

Habitat in decline. But hey! They tax us … for ‘river management’!

 

A pretty river, once lined with willows, back in memory

But ‘river managers’ sprayed them dead. Weeds now proliferate

And roads must be paved, so they chomp at her bed… ‘in a managed way’

Her bed is now lower, even deeper than I am tall!

Machine tracks gouge and tattoo her… vibrancy’s gone.

 

No stones to replenish on the hills to wash down

But in Nature’s laws, forces afoot, there’s always a pattern

Nature and time, unbended by man, in a process so slow

Mountains to hills, to peneplain flat. A buckling crust

An uplift so violent, landscapes reform… and the demise of man?


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